Dancing Alone: Part 2 Illya's POV
by Diddlepie
Summary: "Dancing Alone" was written from Gaby's POV. This is Illya's POV. Taken from the movie scene where she teases him to dance with her.


_This is my version of Illya's POV from the dancing scene in the movie. "Dancing Alone" is written from Gaby's point of view. This story, "Dancing Alone, Part 2" is Illya's POV. Getting into Illya's head seems like it should be easy, but at least for me, it took some time. I have tried to stay true to the characters as portrayed in the movie and the back drop which was the Cold War. You may or may not agree, but this is what I came up with._

 **Dancing Alone, Part 2: Illya's POV**

 **By diddlepie**

He'd been assigned to watch the East German fräulein. He hated that his mind could drift as it did now while he leaned against the building watching and waiting. It drifted to his father and mother. Both shamed and forgotten, or at least he tried to forget. His father had been a big man in Soviet government, until he wasn't. Stealing from government was very bad. His mother had been a beauty. Beautiful in face, beautiful in body, tall. She had done what she had to, or so she said, to survive, after his father's arrest. He didn't see her anymore although he thought he might still love her because he found her in his thoughts often. She was his mother and Russians revere their mothers. She had been important once, but not anymore. His mother now was Mother Russia and he would fight and defend her honor with his life.

They had been expecting contact from American operative and KGB intelligence said today he would finally cross at Check Point Charlie. Typical American, he thought as he watched him come through. Overdressed, over confident, smiling. These Americans think too highly of themselves, he thought. He sized the man up as a combatant. Yes, he could probably put up a good fight, but not good enough. Stupid Americans.

He was the field commander for this operation, because he was the best. He was tall, strong, fast, fearless and ruthless. People were afraid of him. Afraid because of his size, his speed, his strength, his determination and his temper. It was good to have people fear you. It protected you.

He looked at his watch- his father's watch. It was time to move. Action is what eased his mind, his medicine. His explosive temper, it was called that by a doctor, was his release. It pushed the anger out and kept him from imploding and melting into a heap of useless flesh, and others feared him because of it. The KGB recognized it for what it was to them, another weapon that detonated with explosive force and made him unstoppable. He hailed his fellow KGB agent to bring the car. The American was getting into a cab. The chase was on. He hoped the American put up a good fight. Fighting was better than interrogations. He hated interrogations with the crying, pleading and begging.

Night fell as he continued to follow the American. Napoleon Solo. He was briefed on the man. The CIA's most effective agent. He hoped for a chance to prove them wrong. Children were playing in the street. It was dangerous for children to play outside at night, especially tonight. He stepped out of the shadows to frighten them and they disappeared into darkened doorways. His mind wandered again as the children disappeared: he had a younger sister once. He loved her. Blond hair, fair skin. She worshipped him and he read to her, and kissed her hair as he tucked her into bed. She was a big deal in his life, until she wasn't. Many children died when the Nazis invaded. You get over it.

He watched the chop- shop intently now. The American had been there four minutes. It was time to move. He did not know much about the East German girl other than her father was important. She was simply a key to open a box. Once the box was open, the key no longer mattered. The girl knew how to fix cars. That was all.

His introduction to the fräulein occurred moments later on the deserted streets of East Berlin as they raced and jockeyed their cars for position. The American took two shots at him, and missed. His gun sat beside him in the passenger seat. The best passenger he knew of and he would have taken a shot at the driver and ended the chase, but his instructions were clear: do not hurt the girl- the key to the box. So they battled as he tried to drive her off the road. She knew how to handle an automobile and herself as he watched her swing over the Wall with the American agent. It was an embarrassment, but it was not over. The direction it took, however, was one he had not anticipated. He was to work together with the American to recover the girl's father. This would be interesting.

They met again in the dress shop. She jumped when he came up behind her and backed away. Of course she hates and fears him. All East Germans hate the Russians, especially KGB. She was gutsy and confident as she handled her reaction to him well after the initial surprise. These are good qualities in a woman he thought to himself. She was prettier than he had thought, not flashy like a Hollywood movie star but honestly good-looking. He made no effort to hide his appreciation as a pretty woman should know when a man thinks she is attractive.

He was pleased when he heard that she was to be paired with him as an engaged couple. It was part of the plan to get to her father. He knew the American, this Napolean Solo, would be her choice, but that would be a difficult explanation how she would be engaged to an American. But now that he has seen her, he thinks he is a very good match. Everyone thinks Russians are big stupid oafs. Simpletons with no culture. This is not true. Russians are proud, hard working, honest and very smart. She deserves better than the American. And he thinks she may not be too bad, even for a German.

He doesn't try to impress her with charm like the American. It is dishonest behavior in his mind. But he is gentle with her as this is how a man should be to his woman... even if their engagement is pretend. He liked the feeling of her as she took his arm and they walked together. He could see other men admiring them, and he felt a different kind of pride. Not the pride that comes from completing a mission or pummeling a man to incoherence, but a pride of perhaps being appreciated, maybe even loved, by a pretty woman. She challenged him in a teasing way as he told his fable about the Spanish Steps being built by Russians. He liked her wit and banter, and that she did not give in to his guff. He thinks maybe she likes him a little also. And he realized at that moment that maybe he doesn't always have to be tough. Maybe he can be someone else.

Then the ambush in the Roman ruins. Two men followed them, testing him, that's what the American said. Testing to see if he would fight. He could have killed them both easily. She stopped him. She grabbed his hands, and stepped in front of him to stop his temper that was about to erupt. He heard her words calling him back, back to sanity and the place where he could decide if he should let the bomb which was his temper ignite. It was the right thing to do... for the mission. The German fräulein was smart.

Now it is night. It has been a long day and he is still furious about the robbery. Even his game of chess does not distract him. They are alone in the hotel room they share and she teases him to dance with her. She's getting drunk, he knows. It's been a hard few days for her. No, he doesn't want to drink with her or dance or even be here. She continues taunting him by blocking his path as she persists in her inebriated twirls. And then she strikes him in the face- twice. She is acting like a spoiled child and he finds his temper beginning to rise. And when he thinks she can go no further, she suddenly tackles him sending them both crashing onto the sofa and then the floor.

His training begins to kick in and a flash he could have broken her neck, but from someplace deep in his soul he recognizes her cry for attention, a cry of anger and frustration, and he lets her beat him till she sits atop his chest, physically spent, pinning him to the floor. And he feels a heat, a desire to forget all else, honor, responsibility, command and share her release. He feels her falling on him and he waits for her, and at that moment he realizes maybe he would wait forever if he has to. Their lips almost touch before she passes out beside him. He lies there for a moment with her resting on top of him and gently wraps his arms around her. Then rises to pick her up for bed. No, he would never take advantage of her. Lesser men do that. He will let her come to him if she wants him, but he will let her know he is willing. A tender smile creeps across his lips as he tucks her in bed. "Goodnight little chop-shop girl."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _Ta Dah! Did I catch him right?_


End file.
